Chrysolite
by Cantare
Summary: You like to think you have me trapped here, don't you. Like that first time. But you've trapped yourself, not me." When the world is no longer whole or new, one can only try to piece it together. Depression warning.
1. Prologue: Ixtala

_A/N: This idea came to me rather spontaneously and developed within a day into a long series of short chapters, much darker than my previous writing (simple warning - disturbing themes throughout). It's an experiment of sorts and I think the style is noticeably different from my other works. This has no relation to the Antiphony universe. It may help to watch The Secret of Dagger Rock episode before starting on this._

_As always, comments are much appreciated. Enjoy. _

* * *

**Prologue**

**Ixtala**

It was always the same. Silence filled the air around them, reaching to the jagged cliffs and rock walls too steep to scale. Her arms were loose around his back, sweat slowly drying. The gravel beneath her no longer felt coarse. She hardly noticed it all, now that all was silent and she again wondered if he had anything to say.

He was the first to break the inertia, beginning to rise to his feet. But he stopped, merely propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at her. She returned his gaze expressionlessly. A small smile of seeming amusement curved his lips as his eyes took in the unruly sprawl of her hair across the rocky ground, the dry cut on her lower lip and her left earring which had come loose. He stroked her cheek with one finger, his smile now only tilting one side of his mouth.

"We don't have to keep doing this here, you know."

She did not respond, waiting for more words. She spent her silence trying to understand him.

"It isn't really right for a queen to lay among dirt and rocks," he continued, now tracing the scratches on the skin of her arms. They always healed fast enough, but it was difficult to conceal them in the clothing she usually wore. "Silk is more preferable, isn't it? Dark silk."

She stared at him for another moment before speaking. "No."

"Then you prefer the pain."

"I won't go back with you."

He shrugged, disengaging himself from her arms, and again she was fooled. He did not leave, but lay down beside her with a light sigh and an unbroken gaze.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

As always, his question was vague and carried too many faces. "No, because this isn't new."

"You've been to my citadel before. It's not new either."

She shook her head. "We can't meet anywhere but here."

He laughed, short and derisive. "We can, but you won't. Because this is the only place where you feel you have control."

She frowned but said nothing, and the negligible distance between them grew in her mind.

"You like to think you have me trapped here, don't you. Like that first time." He looked at her levelly, no longer smiling. Without humor, the blackness of his eyes appeared darker. "You know it wasn't pleasant by any means."

The jagged crystal tower behind him was darkening from glass to rose from the dying sun. He paused softly. "But then I can't help but feel this is your reparation, to subject yourself to pain and dust and pleasure for me. It does make me feel special."

Despite her weariness, she still had to defy him in some fashion. "I don't owe you anything."

"No, but you still give." She saw a slight gleam of teeth as his smile returned. "You've trapped yourself, not me."

She was pliant in his arms though she wanted to resist. This time he drew her over him, brushing the crumbled earth and jagged rocks from her chafed skin with smooth hands. She heard the slight crunch of the ground under his back as he took her weight upon himself, gently grasping her hips and pushing. He brought her face down to his lips, murmuring against her ear as the first harsh breath left her lungs.

"Ixtala."


	2. Parting

**Chapter 1**

**Parting**

"And if it's a girl?" she said with a persistent smile. "That name wouldn't work."

"Aaliyah then. Close enough," he conceded. She leaned into him as he stroked her hair. It was a rare restful afternoon where he finally had time to spend alone with her. She was proud of him, how he had come to handle his duties as sovereign of Agrabah with unexpected grace and diligence. He seemed natural at it, even better than her late father.

"I still have reservations about naming him Ali, if it's a boy," she said. "The name of an impostor."

"The first name you ever fell for," he said playfully, one palm resting on her belly. The swell was just starting to show. "Our son'll be the real thing."

"_If_ it's a son," she reminded him. "I think it'll be a girl."

He sighed and wisely refrained from arguing. "I'll be happy either way, you know that." She could tell from his voice that he wished it were the truth. She supposed she couldn't blame him. Male children were simply preferred, especially for a couple's firstborn. To have a son as one's first child was an auspicious sign, and immediate security for their kingdom's future. Perhaps she was only being petulant in wishing for a girl. There would always be more chances in the future.

Aladdin turned her in his arms and kissed her softly. She responded passively, allowing the warmth of his body to diffuse slowly through her, and felt a tingle at the base of her belly. In her younger years, she had often questioned how she could tell whether she was in love. Even within the first few months of meeting Aladdin, she would sometimes wonder whether she was truly in love or if the perfect fantasy and passion of their lives would fade, because it was all just too perfect and fantastical. Adventures, breathtaking battles and wild chases had only served to cement their bond, and recently she had begun to miss that age of youthful recklessness, despite the brushes with death and injuries she had taken along the way.

But their love hadn't faded. They had been married for two years and were closer than ever, physical intimacy only adding another deep layer to the foundation of their intertwined lives. For the first time in her life she felt content, not only happy. It was a constant feeling of security and warmth, of knowing that things were simply right, just as they should be. And soon she would feel complete, starting a family together and raising their children, learning to be a mother while Aladdin would slide naturally into his role as a father. He would be an amazing father to their children, there was no question in her mind.

He finally ended the kiss, drawing back from her with painstaking slowness, almost as if he was reluctant to be parted from the taste of her. The warmth in her abdomen seemed to burn as she looked into his eyes.

"You're right. Ali is a good name," she said with a smile that trembled.


	3. Dreams

**Chapter 2**

**Dreams**

She laughed softly into the night breeze, tendrils of hair caressing her face as she raised her arms tentatively like a young bird, just like she had the first time. They weren't flying as high or as fast now; the ride was as smooth as a boat across still water. Aladdin's arm was around her waist immediately, holding her with gentle urgency. He tugged her back against him and drew her into his lap, whispering a light chastisement in her ear. She smiled wryly and put her arms down slowly in drawn-out rebellion. They were both quite careful now, and it had taken a bit of convincing for him to allow her to fly on Carpet tonight. Of course, he had insisted that he come with her. That was what she had wanted anyway.

"How old before he or she gets to fly?" she asked. She grinned at the thought that as of late, she was floating among dreams more than he. Her levelheaded pragmatism had vanished under the new path they were walking, and she seemed to have regressed to her teenage years, reliving them for their child.

"Well, earlier if it's a boy," Aladdin said playfully, as if the answer were obvious. "Maybe about 16 if it's a girl."

"That's not fair." She played along in his game, one of many verbal dances between them.

"We can't have her flying off with street rats or impostors of royalty, can we? You never know what kind of enterprising individuals might come to her balcony," he responded, trying to sound like a wise and concerned parent. Under her laughter she felt a prick of sadness at the reminder of her own father, how much he had cared for her and protected her.

"But if it's a boy, I guess we don't have to worry about any of that," she said contemplatively.

His eyes brightened as she spoke of a son. "I don't know. With us as his parents, he'd have to fight to keep the girls away."

"I think he could run fast enough, if he takes after you."

They fell silent for a while, content to enjoy the cloudless night sky and the vast desert beneath them. She started to fall asleep in his arms with the steady rhythm of his heart against her back. He had often asked her if she thought he would be a good father. His insecurity bothered her at times, but it was all the more endearing because the answer was obvious to everyone except him. He had never known his own father, but then again she had never known her mother. They would just have to learn, and after all they had been through together, her faith in their bond was unshakable.

She smiled in half-sleep when he began humming an old tune in her ear.

_Or say we're only dreaming..._


	4. Warmth

**Chapter 3**

**Warmth**

She awoke with a distinct fear, the aftertaste of nightmares. Her heart plummeted and lurched in her chest as her hand went down through the sheets, legs shifting apart over warm, wet cloth that screamed to her in the darkness. Aladdin moved beside her, slowly opening his eyes as he sensed her sudden alarm.

"Jas, what's wr--"

Her fists tightened on the sheets, knuckles paling, fingers coated in crimson. He saw them, saw her face, the shocked silence of her trembling lips. His arm went around her automatically, drawing her close even as his other hand went to pull back the sheets, quickened breaths held back in an effort to remain calm in the face of a waking nightmare. She wrenched away from him, clasping the blanket to her chest and wrapping it halfway around her body. She could not let him see, could not bear to look herself. The warmth in her belly was a scorching fire now, a fire of destruction and emptiness.

"No..."

He held her face in his hands, trying to speak to her, no longer trying to pry the sheets from her white-knuckled hands. He kissed her feverishly, embracing her as if she were made of glass, though he could have crushed her to him in the mounting storm of his own sorrow.

"No..." Her breath hitched and she could speak no more, leaning her head against his shoulder. His embrace had been full of warmth, but now it was merely full of hard edges and heat.

"It's all right," he was saying to her again and again. Lying. She stared blankly ahead into darkness, the wetness under her thighs already cooling even as it crept slowly across the sheets. She could not look; she could not look.

She noticed belatedly that he was weeping, tears trickling onto her skin from his cheek. Absently she circled her arms around his neck and breathed shallowly into his hair.

"I love you," his broken voice echoed. She closed her eyes.


	5. Wake

**Chapter 4**

**Wake**

When her father had died, she hadn't mourned as long as she thought she would have. Maybe it was because he had passed peacefully, and they had known for months that he would leave them.

But now, breathing was mourning. She awoke to grief, bathed in sorrow, and slept in numbness. The palace was quiet, as it should be. Sometimes the silence threatened to swallow her whole. She did not know what the kingdom was saying outside the gilded walls of the palace. No one had mentioned it to her, though she almost wanted to challenge them to say something, just so she could tell them they were wrong, they didn't know how she felt, they had no right to say anything at all.

Bitter knowledge crept like thorned vines along the pool of her grief. Beneath the masks of mourning, there were many who would question her and Aladdin now, those who had been waiting for years to accuse the new sultan of tarnishing the royal line and defying Divine will. They would say that this was Allah's punishment, not only for him, but for his queen as well, for whose sake the late sultan had dared to alter venerated law.

And then what of their future? they would ask. Surely this was a sign that the royal union was not to be.

She shut herself away in her old bedroom, watching the world from her open balcony doors but not venturing outside. The view seemed small from her bed, just as it had when she was a princess longing to leave. Sky and city, stray birds, listless clouds.

Rajah paced beside her bed, his movements now slow and tired with age. He knew she did not want anyone near her at the moment. So he kept his distance, and felt a small amount of comfort at the fact he was the only friend she allowed into her chambers. He'd guarded her since childhood; they had grown up together. And he had no words of consolation or condemnation, only a restless presence that reflected her perfectly. She watched the dulling orange and black stripes glide back and forth beside her bed, patterns blurring together in her half-seeing vision. The other half looked inward and into the past.

Eventually she recognized the tiger's movements and countenance when he lay down at the foot of her bed before she slept. He did not lower his head or close his eyes, keeping watch over her as long as she was awake. He looked the same as he had the night she had first run away, foolishly and without a plan, tugging her briefly back before helping her escape with a soft, sad whine in his throat. And she realized that now she was running away again, without even moving.


	6. Aside

**Chapter 5**

**Aside**

As a child she had loved to hear stories of adventure and romance. The ones that left the deepest impression were lined with tragedy, because they left knives in her young, naive heart. But it was always the same: the more tragic the conflict, the more glorious the hero's victory and reunion with his loved ones in the end. The last time she had read such a story was before the first suitors began visiting.

But there was no moment of epiphany or glory, no dramatic turn of emotion when she settled back into her life. One night she simply walked out of her old room and into the sultan's quarters, eyes still half-seeing so as to avoid the questioning gazes of the guards and servants in the halls. She shut the door behind her and heard her husband rise from the bed immediately. Of course he hadn't fallen asleep yet. They had remained sleepless and haunted in their separate rooms, and when she saw the dim outline of his face in the darkness, she felt her vision return.

They met halfway across the room; he had moved forward quickly, but drew up short and did not touch her. She looked up into his eyes, seeing many things. The clearest was fear. Fear for her, and fear of her. Her lips parted in disbelief and guilt, cold knowledge of her wrongs now seeping into warm conscience. She had treated him unfairly.

Many things were unfair, including life and death, and she had been rebelling in silent protest against the immutable past. But love was the only thing that was intrinsically unfair and should remain as such. It was unfair that he brushed past her feeble attempts at apology and embraced her in unquestioning forgiveness. He told her there was nothing to forgive, and pressed his face against her hair as a man desperately praying in gratitude and relief.

She could not explain why she had come back to him this night; she had merely felt it was time. Not everything had a reason as it did in stories. She wondered if they were the hero and heroine still, or if those roles lost their meaning in the wake of reasonless tragedy. There was no glory or grand lesson to be learned, only the steady love that now reestablished itself between them.

He lay her down with meticulous care, as if cupping precious water in his palms. They did not speak beyond whispers, still accustomed to silence. He said they could wait to talk until she was ready, or they didn't have to talk about it at all. His continued fear bothered her, because where there was fear there could not be trust. She turned in his arms and held him tightly, replying that they would talk, that silence was only another kind of lie. They could begin tomorrow. For tonight, they could just hold each other, and perhaps in sleep they would share a dream.


	7. Sunrise

**Chapter 6**

**Sunrise**

"I love you."

"What happened to 'good morning'?"

"I wanted to make sure you were really here."

...

"Aladdin, I'm sor-"

"Don't."

...

"I shouldn't have blocked you out like that. It's just...pain brings you into your own world, where it burns like the sun. I couldn't think or feel anything else; it was like being dead. I still don't think I'm fully out of it."

"I don't think we ever will be." ... "But it's okay. You came back. We can make everything work again."

"How can you...how can you be so calm about it? I feel like my world died, but you...it's like you were only waiting for me. What about...what about him?"

"Heaven has a new son or daughter now. That's how I have to see it. Our child's at peace."

...

"I wish I had such strong faith. To have peace when life is so unfair."

...

"I haven't told you much about my life before we met. And I don't mean to trivialize what happened to us--to you--by any means, but living on the streets for 17 years, you see a lot. There's unfairness or outright injustice everywhere you look. But eventually I had to stop shaking my fist at Allah and accept that this was the world, broken and evil, but with its moments of beauty and goodness. It's up to every person to bring that beauty and goodness into reality. If we just lie down and let suffering drown us, then nothing will get better. So we have to pick ourselves up and...I'm sorry, I'm lecturing you, aren't I."

"No, it's good to listen. I'm sorry I didn't try to understand more of your life before. I want to know more."

"If it'll help you feel better. For now, though, I just want you with me."

...

"Aladdin..."

"I'm sorry, is it too soon?"

"No...don't stop..."

...

...

"Please..."

...

...

...


	8. Imagine

**Chapter 7**

**Imagine**

It was several days after palace life had returned to normal when Aladdin told her that they had to meet with the head physician. She was tense as they sat in a small room together, the walls thick and the door locked. Aladdin didn't want anyone else near, and for good reason.

She felt numb. The doctor's words were not registering with her. Aladdin squeezed her arm gently, his eyes never leaving her face. The doctor finished speaking with an uneven breath in his normally seamless voice. With aged limbs he bowed down on the cushions, prostrating himself in abject apology. There was nothing he could do. The queen simply could not carry children to term.

"Why?"

Her soft question reached the ears of both men, but neither wanted to answer. She thought it strange that they would withhold such information from her. The answer didn't matter because it didn't change the facts. But she needed to fill the silence somehow.

Aladdin held her hand tightly and brought himself to speak.

"It's...it's your injuries," he said softly. The sorrow in his eyes was clouded with guilt. "At some point before we were married, you must have sustained an injury that...I mean, none of us ever imagined it would affect our chances of having children, but..."

"But it did," she said blankly. "It did."

"I am gravely sorry, Your Majesty," the doctor said, bowing his forehead to the floor. "Allah have mercy."

She didn't notice when Aladdin dismissed the physician, retreating into a haze once more. She had just started to pick herself up as Aladdin had said they should, but now she had no legs to stand on. There was no hope for trying again, to bring a child into the world.

"Isn't there something someone can do?" she asked as he drew her close. She pushed away from him, realizing that every time she asked hard questions he always embraced her, and she felt stifled. She looked at him stubbornly, brushing past the concern and hurt in his face. "Isn't there anything? What about Genie?"

"I've been talking to Genie about it," he said, more like an admission than a statement. She felt anger rise belatedly within her.

"But you didn't talk to me? How many other people know?" she demanded.

"Jasmine, you were grieving. How could we tell you when you were already burdened with so much?"

"Still," she insisted, shutting away reason because she abhorred it at the moment. "You should have told me. I'm the first person who deserves to know!"

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her again. She allowed him to hold her hand but didn't move forward. He let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

She brushed past it forcefully. Resentment and anger over this wouldn't help; she could still reason that much. "Genie. Can he do anything?"

The look of worry on his face told her she could not completely trust whatever words he might say, because he valued her too highly. Valued her wellbeing over their dreams and future. "I don't think so."

"But there's a chance," she said. She cut him off before he could speak again in concerned protest. "I'm going to talk to him myself."


	9. Circle

**Chapter 8**

**Circle**

It was a small consolation that the crippling news was still a secret held by only four people. Every wall in the palace had ears, trying to siphon it out of her. But for now there were only scattered rumors that the queen was unable to bear children, the usual fodder for the majority who wished her neither good nor ill. She was driven by the thought that they could remain rumors once and for all, because there was a chance Genie could help her.

Aladdin wisely stayed away as she talked to their friend alone. He still suspected that she blamed him in some way, perhaps for taking her on too many adventures and more often than not allowing her to walk in harm's path when the kingdom was threatened. In actuality, it had never been his place to allow or disallow her from doing what she chose as princess of Agrabah. Her current condition could just as well be attributed to her own recklessness.

She had to shake off the first blow to her hope - Genie was even more reluctant than Aladdin. Both were poor liars, and she shoved past his first weak excuse that he did not have the power to help her. Her questions quickly turned into demands because she was sick of being treated as if she were sick.

"Jas, I've done this before," the jinni finally said. It was one of the rare times when his immortality translated into age in his eyes; a thousand years seemed to shine from beneath his black irises as he met her gaze. "And that's why I won't do it for you."

He proceeded to tell her about one of his masters who had wished for his barren wife to be able to bear children. As a slave of the lamp, Genie had no choice then, and had acted as soon as the words had left the man's mouth. He hadn't been able to warn the man that it was never safe or wise to permanently imbue a non-magical being with the wild magic of a jinni. The woman became pregnant, but the child developed abnormally within her unnaturally altered body, and in the end her husband had cursed the jinni for giving them a monster instead of a baby. Jasmine listened in stoic silence.

"There is no other way?" she said quietly as the weight of gruesome memory settled like chains over her friend's countenance.

He shook his head sadly.

"Can you at least try?"

"Jas...please understand. If I could, I would pour all my power into helping you. But I can't. Not when the risk is this great."

She went to sleep that night wondering how she had come to deserve such love and care from Aladdin and others, love that prevented them from helping her if it meant any risk to her. Aladdin's arm was slack around her waist, his chest rising and falling slowly at her back. They would have to talk again, but where would it get them? They would be endlessly talking and never arriving at what they both wanted so badly. Lapsing into sleep at last, her mind circled through dreams and nightmares alike, but when she awoke she could not remember what they were.


	10. Renitence

**Chapter 9**

**Renitence**

The tea in the cup was growing cold before her eyes. Aladdin sat beside her, waiting quietly. She stared at the liquid, feeling half-blind again.

It was pointless for both of them to keep waiting for what would not happen. She finally stood from the floor, picked up the tea from the table, and walked calmly toward the nearest potted plant in their room. He stopped her before she could pour it into the soil.

"Jasmine..."

His conflicted expression was no surprise. She either had to drink the tea or stop lying with him. To him, the choice probably seemed simple.

"I can't, Aladdin." Her tone brooked no argument.

They stared at each other for a long time, and she began to feel sick because he was clearly standing in her way. Accusations were standing in her mind, but she held them back, trying to understand him. Of course, what he wanted was normal. He wanted a healthy marriage, to renew the closeness of their relationship after it had been thrown off course. But to drink the tea would mean that things weren't normal, no matter how intimate they were or how they appeared in public. She could not imagine the bitter liquid passing through her lips and down her throat, scalding shut her feeble dreams for good.

She could not bear it. At least not now. Aladdin had to understand why she had to deny him. He loved her enough, having supported her in everything thus far.

"I'm sorry," she said, and pried his fingers off her wrist. She emptied the cup in the soil and set it back on the table, then went back to him and pried open his now clenched hands to place them around her waist. Closing her eyes, she felt a tear trickle down her face as she kissed him softly. He kissed her back feverishly, but his hands did not move.

"I'll wait," he whispered. He leaned his forehead against hers and touched his lips to the trail of tears on her cheek. "We'll wait."


	11. Scant

**Chapter 10**

**Scant**

Her face hurt from smiling. She suspected Aladdin's did as well. Getzistan was alight with festivity, another extravagant and unnecessary gathering of desert rulers invited by the generous sultan. The night was a blurring array of exotic food spread on impossibly long tables, endless toasts and drunken songs, and glittering jewelry on throats and hands and hair. Jasmine sat quietly beside her husband as he conversed with the Getzistani sultan about issues that did not matter and would not build friendship, only idle time. They were privileged with seats close to the sultan because of all the aid they had provided over the years, mostly in the form of dramatic rescues from magical foes.

She looked around the vast banquet hall, high walls embroidered with gold, ceiling hung with all sorts of precious crystals. Surrounded by the drunken laughter of powerful men and the swaying hips of dancing girls, she saw emptiness. The sultan's fourth wife was pressed against his side, his pudgy fingers stroking her bare waist. The woman looked content, pretending to understand the matters of state her half-inebriated husband was discussing with Aladdin. Jasmine looked away.

Eventually she had enough and politely excused herself from the table, retiring early with a headache as her excuse. Her chambers were especially lavish, rivaling those of her wedding night. She ignored the servant girls who had readied a bath for her and went straight to the oversized bed, drawing the canopy shut.

She smelled wine when she awoke in the middle of the night, and felt the bed shift almost soundlessly. In the darkness she could see his skin was flushed, his turban askew. He was half-asleep already, and she watched him in silence for several minutes. Then she sat up and gently removed his turban, brushing his unruly hair back from his forehead. It took more effort to tug the layers of clothing from his torso, but he helped her remove some of it. She turned away from the breath of alcohol in her face as he drew her close and kissed her neck clumsily. His hands fumbled with her nightgown, and she resisted.

"I need you," he said simply.

She knew they shouldn't have come to Getzistan. The city of extravagant wealth and destitute souls. Virtuous men had no place here, but it was because of their virtue that the tug of temptation was all the stronger. Those without virtue did not consider anything a temptation in the first place.

She thought of the fourth wife and felt slightly sick.

They hadn't brought the tea with them; Aladdin knew that. She could still see the clarity of knowledge in his eyes, untouched by the haze of wine. He was watching her, waiting. She finally moved.

Her hands undid his belt, and she tried to keep them steady. They were trembling not with nervousness as they had the first time, but with the unease of sacrifice. She pressed her lips to his abdomen and kissed downward. He closed his eyes and threaded his hands through her hair. The sigh that escaped his lips began the emptiness of release.


	12. Retell

**Chapter 11**

**Retell**

They dined together alone one night, on the balcony under the stars. He had lit candles for her, and in his sad smile she saw a reminder of earlier days. They were still young, but he was no longer a street rat and she no longer a princess. When most of the food had been cleared away, he took an apple from the bowl and polished it with his sleeve. She looked at him curiously, and he suddenly tossed it up and rolled it down his arm toward her. She managed to catch it with a laugh.

"Still got it, huh."

"That's not a skill you can forget," he replied with a grin. A short pause. "I've missed your laugh."

He took the apple back from her and began cutting it into small pieces on a plate. She felt her heart soften and her throat harden. He began to feed her bits of the fruit, brushing her lips only slightly with his fingers. She leaned forward and their lips met tenderly. The slow burn in her stomach returned, and he seemed to have flipped back several chapters in their history. Love was deep, but sometimes it was concealed.

"Jasmine," he said softly. His eyes were intent. "No matter what you may be hearing around the palace, I will never, ever love another."

She could hear the condition in his voice. The implications were harrowing, and she longed to feel his lips on hers again.

"You're the only one for me." He was repeating himself. She waited for him to step outside his affirmations. He held her hand tightly on the table. "The issue of succession is a plague within these walls. I never thought it would...I've been in meetings all week about it."

More than four people knew of her condition now. Of course. There were several options for a sultan whose queen could not bear children. Foster a relative's child, take another wife, or visit the harem. Neither of them had any close relatives. The other two options were now an impending reality, finally at the surface after they had refused to consider them for months.

"You'll never love another," she echoed.

"Never," he said emphatically, but the chapters of their past were closed. His hand was poised to flip to the next chapter, waiting for her to read to the end of the current page.

She bit her lip and her half-filled heart seemed to spill and empty itself. She might have screamed or walked away, or continued talking, or refused to read on. But she knew what he was asking, what he was pleading for with his arm outstretched in helpless urgency, just as on that first day.

"I trust you," she chose to say, and sealed the door on screams and despair. His eyes shone with understanding and crushed hopes that somehow still lived.

That night she began drinking the tea. They did not sleep for a long while, desperately affirming promises and trust without words. For the next day the meetings would continue, and she would have to bear the consequences.


	13. Oracle

**Chapter 12**

**Oracle**

_Watchman, what is left of the night?_

It was hard to keep her mind from wandering for the following weeks as the council meetings eventually stopped, signifying that a decision had been made. So she wandered the halls instead, rediscovering the library her father had gifted her with as a child, meandering through ancient texts and simple storybooks that she was only half-interested in reading. On a whim she began to write, pages and pages of thoughts and scattered bits of text she had once studied and memorized. She had not particularly cared for literature or history as a girl, but now she understood what her tutors meant when they said such worlds were a fantastic escape. Man took up writing in order to act as Creator and not Created.

_Watchman, what is left of the night?_

She made sure to return to her bedroom late at night when she knew Aladdin would already be there waiting for her. He once commented on this with wariness, saying that he still arrived to sleep at the same time as ever. He had not changed his schedule ostensibly, and she knew it was for her sake. But before, she had never had to wonder how or where he spent his time during the day. Now she avoided the entire east side of the palace, because there were rooms there that captured nearly all her waking thoughts.

Her hand paused on the paper and her fingers suddenly tightened. She stared at the words she had written, pulled from some corner of her memory, and knew that they held meaning. Some prophecy from a religious text, if she recalled correctly. She could continue scrawling the same question to the end of the page, but repetition added no meaning. She struggled to recall the next verse.

He still loved her. He assured her of it every night in level tones and a steady embrace. But there were seconds when she felt sick in his arms, as if he were a stranger, with freshly washed skin that no longer carried his scent. She bore it, knowing that he felt sick as well, harboring his daily secrets for her sake.

Her eyes burned as she stared at the drying ink of her words, and she remembered the watchman's reply.

_Morning is coming, but also the night. If you would ask, then ask; and come back yet again._


	14. Seen

**Chapter 13**

**Seen**

"I humbly suggest," the councilor said, "that you send a letter of explanation to Sultan Mahir. One does not lightly reject such a prized gift."

"I have already given my explanation to his ambassador," Aladdin answered tensely. "The sultan will understand."

Another man at the table leaned forward intently. "The sultan of Bindari has a standing army twice the size of Agrabah's, and is not known for his 'understanding.'"

Aladdin fixed an even gaze on the man who had spoken. "Are you threatening me on behalf of a foreign ruler?"

The councilor stood up, now openly incensed, and slammed a palm down on the table. He shook off the hand of the advisor beside him, ignoring the hissed reminder that there was a woman in their presence. Jasmine sat still and did not react.

"Sultan Aladdin, with all due respect, this is plainly ridiculous. We have been over this time and time again, and I will not regurgitate the same arguments because you know what they are. But at this moment, if you do not act quickly, there will be consequences. Not all ruling men care for 'understanding,'" he spared the briefest of glances at Jasmine, "or 'love.' I implore you, write a letter acknowledging your mistake, and accept his offer!"

Her hand hurt in Aladdin's strong grip. She could see the lines of tension tightening his jaw, the side of his neck.

"Sit down, councilor," he said flatly.

The man obeyed, albeit very slowly. Jasmine stared at him, at all of them around the table. She should have joined her husband earlier, from the very beginning of his reign, if she had known the council treated him as such. But now her presence no longer carried any weight, her authority diminished because she could not carry an heir.

"Your Highness, I caution you to think with your head, not your heart," an older councilor said in a softer tone. "Indeed, only the former is involved in this matter. Princess Huma is the key to our kingdom's security. And she may provide you with an heir."

The silence in the room was deafening. Jasmine realized just how dire the situation was, for politicians to actually speak their minds without reservation. She felt their glances like burns on her skin.

"The succession issue is closed," Aladdin said, closing his eyes briefly to calm himself, or perhaps because he could not look at his wife. "An heir has been secured."

Jasmine ignored the lurch in her chest and continued to watch the faces condemning her husband's love for her. It was the first time he had broken their tacit agreement not to speak of the issue.

"An heir without a drop of royal blood, the child of an harem girl," the previous man said with blatant distaste. They could all hear the unspoken words that could easily have followed - _and a street rat. _"That is not-"

"That is what we agreed upon, what you all accepted," Aladdin ground out. "We will not return to the-"

"At that point there was no better option," the first man said. "A ruler must adapt. There is a new road open now, for you, for Agrabah's future. Are you willing to forsake the kingdom for your own misled ideals?"

Jasmine quietly rose and left the room. The burns on her skin did not lessen when she was out of their sight. She had to get away, if only for a short time. Somewhere she could breathe without judgment flaying her spirit. She took Carpet into the sky, and the lack of a destination no longer alarmed her.


	15. Clad

**Chapter 14**

**Clad**

She stared at her reflection in the cold prism. One step to the left, and her thinning figure wasted away further, mere wires draped with skin. She hesitantly placed one palm on the smooth surface, wondering if it would draw her in. Her hand encountered nothing but cool glass.

She leaned her back against the towering crystal and slid down slowly, the magic carpet draped around her shoulders like a shawl. It brushed her dampened cheek with one tassel, and she encircled her knees with her arms. It was quiet here, quiet enough for her breaths to echo. Through blurred eyes she watched the stillness of the cliffs around her. They seemed to tear themselves from the ground like claws, suspended as a predator in mid-leap. Frozen. She did not know when she could move again, let alone go back.

In a sense, this was the only way she could go back now. To return to this cursed, dead place of blackened cliffs and sharpened beds of stalagmites, where she had once won a victory. There had been fear and uncertainty and despair, but determination and courage and foolishness had swept her through. Everything had gone as it should have, as it always had.

The plaguing question surfaced again. Was it that day? Was it here at her perfect victory that she had been made imperfect? Her insides twisted in hunger, but she thirsted for the answer more than anything, though it would change nothing. Perhaps if she knew, she could have some measure of peace. She might have no power, but at least she would have knowledge. The two were dangerous when separated, but such was the world.

She leaned her head against the crystal, gazing skyward and allowing the water to recede into her eyes. Night was coming, and soon the long shadows around her would disappear, consumed by darkness. She wrapped the carpet more tightly around herself and closed her eyes.


	16. Depth

**Chapter 15**

**Depth**

The sun rose again. She was awakened not by the light but by the warmth of its rays on her skin. Carpet stirred around her shoulders and pushed her gently forward, urging her to go home. She stood slowly, weakened by hunger and cold. The black earth around her looked charred and dry. The crystal walls were still cool to the touch, though they glowed with unnatural light, as if envious of the sun.

There were guards posted on the balcony when she returned. She had been sighted from a distance, and Aladdin burst through the doors right when she reached the balustrade. With a clipped command, they were left alone, and he drew her into a harsh embrace. His voice was full of reprimand after relief, and his withering glare sent Carpet out of his sight for the time being. She heard his words but had no reaction to give. At last he realized she could hardly stand, and he ushered her out of the sun into the coolness of their room. Water and food were immediately brought to them, and he fed her as a parent with a sick child.

"Don't ever leave like that again," he said softly, but it was an order. She looked up at him and knew why he now felt like a stranger. "I was worried to death about you," he added, but it was too late.

"What happened?" she asked, pushing it behind her.

His frown deepened. "The council can't pressure me into doing anything. I'm not taking another wife. If you had just stayed for a while longer you would have seen the end of the meeting."

"What about Agrabah?"

"We've protected Agrabah from much more than an invading army. And no matter how many soldiers Bindari has--or how many royal councilors stand against us--we have two genies."

Jasmine looked into his eyes and felt an unsettling chill replace the gnawing hunger within. The question of how far he was willing to go for her sake now seemed only a shadow of something with greater portent.

"They're not standing against us. They're standing for Agrabah," she said, but already saw that he disagreed.

"We stand for Agrabah more than anyone. None of them have ever lifted a finger to defend the kingdom. But you and I, we've given our lives hundreds of times over to save it. We've sacrificed for it." His eyes were still hard as he held her closer. It was clear what sacrifice he was speaking of. The highest price they had paid for their love for the city, which had come to divide their love for each other.

She stopped arguing, fearful of the rift now that she could see it. She was afraid to look further, to see how far there was to fall.


	17. Suffice

**Chapter 16**

**Suffice**

She awoke at a nameless hour in the night to find him gone. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep again, but could not. So she lay quietly, thinking, repeating verses from old texts in her head, waiting.

The night was nearing daybreak when he returned. She could barely hear his steps against the cool floor; he moved with natural stealth and care, slipping into bed beside her with the faint scent of rosewater on his skin. She opened her eyes, and their gazes met.

He looked away even as he moved to hold her. She stared at him and did not budge, resisting the pull of his arms.

"Jasmine..."

She turned away from him, moving to the far side of the bed. Her hands gripped the edge of her pillow, the silk seeming to harden in her fists.

"Jasmine, please...I can explain."

She could not bring herself to speak, ignoring the tug on her shoulder, the warm hands encircling her abdomen. He gave up and lay still on his back beside her.

"She...she requested that I spend one night with her." His voice was soft, but held no shame. She bit her lip and waited for a reason or a name or a lie. "There was nothing more between us; there has been nothing since the child was conceived."

She tasted blood on her tongue and closed her eyes.

"I know it's hard, but please try to understand. She agreed when I chose her for this, but she didn't ask for it. She has to carry a child only to give it away when it's born...no one should have to do such a thing."

She nodded very slowly, forcing herself to understand instead of condemn, and she wished the screams within her would return to deadened silence. She could not let reason slip away because of desperation and terrible love. Of course, no one should have to lose what was rightfully theirs, to allow another to rip out their heart by slow degrees.

"Did you comfort her?" she managed to ask.

"Jasmine, don't...I'm sorry I brought this up. There is nothing between us. I meant it when I said you're the only one for me. But she deserves dignity and respect for what she's doing."

Her breathing quickened when he tried to hold her again. "Stop," she said. A shuddering breath escaped her lips. "Stop."

He obeyed and retreated to his side of the bed, restoring the silence. It was a long time before she sank into exhausted, restless sleep.


	18. Flint

**Chapter 17**

**Flint**

Her leaden eyes opened to darkness that was cold and absent of rosewater. The creep of decay spread over her senses, and she realized she was standing upright, her arms chained to a stone wall. Slowly her vision adjusted. She waited for shock to spur her to action, to escape, but she felt nothing.

"I apologize for missing our date. I would have been there if you had only informed me beforehand."

The sorcerer stepped into view before her, illuminating the darkness with a pale glow. He regarded her with an odd, relaxed smile, lacking the tension he always carried. His eyes took in her appearance, tracing the curve of her shoulder to her throat and parted lips. She kept silent, strangely unconcerned about her predicament. Her thoughts still drifted in rosewater.

Mozenrath tilted his head slightly, a quizzical look on his refined features as he realized the chains were unnecessary. She was now of little use to an enemy, and he knew this as well.

"So it's true, then. The proud queen of Agrabah has finally broken. Your property value has fallen as well, apparently." He sighed. "It's near impossible to set a proper ransom these days with such a volatile market."

The taunts stirred something inside her, but it kept still under layers of sediment, heavy and coarse upon her spirit. His words cut with truth. She bit her lip again, reopening the wound.

He moved closer and she felt his midnight gaze on the side of her face. She finally met his eyes and saw one train of thought die, replaced by another in his frighteningly perceptive mind. "This isn't fair, Jasmine. First you spend a night at Dagger Rock without me, and now you aren't fighting me at all." He paused and smiled again. "I can't use you as ransom now. What would be the point?"

He leaned closer, dark cloth brushing her skin, and she did not flinch at his breath on her ear. "I never thought I'd see the day when Agrabah crumbled because of its most beloved defenders. Congratulations."

The humor drained from his voice. "But you can do better than this...this sickly, pathetic shell I've watched you become. Better than silence and atrophy as it all burns. That seed of anarchy in you--let it live. Live against what they expect; isn't that what you've always done?"

He drew back and his gauntlet glowed briefly. "I'll be waiting for a second date. Don't disappoint me, Your Highness."

The soft sheets of her bedroom blurred back into her consciousness, and she turned slowly to see Aladdin lying still beside her, breathing evenly in deep sleep. She lay awake, unable to rest, as her heart finally began to pound.


	19. Draw

**Chapter 18**

**Draw**

The servant girl was too afraid to raise her head. Jasmine could see the whirl of thoughts in her obedient eyes, seeking a way to escape her mistress' request, to return to dusting the bookshelves in silence.

"Tell me," the queen repeated softly, "about the woman my husband has chosen."

She leaned back against the high seat in the vast library, books and scrolls scattered before her on the table. The maid clasped the dusting rag in her hands and kept her head bowed as she began to answer timidly.

"She is...young, with dark brown eyes and long black hair, copper skin...her shoulders are narrow, her arms thin, with ample hips."

Jasmine waited patiently, beginning to sketch the woman's figure in her mind. "Go on," she said when the maid stopped.

"She is about your height, Your Majesty," the frightened servant continued. "She is slender and delicate, but not weak in constitution."

"What does she wear?"

"A harem servant's clothing changes daily, Your Majesty..."

"What has she worn for the sultan's visits?" she pressed with tested patience.

"Red," the maid answered, her hands trembling on the cloth. "A red top that bares the midriff, pants of the same color that end at her ankles, and--"

"That is enough," Jasmine said simply. The maid glanced up in confusion and relief, and stood still for a minute before hesitantly returning to her duties. Jasmine had forgotten her by then, staring down at the blank page of the journal she had been keeping. She imagined a nameless woman's face and figure, trying in vain to give her features other than her own.


	20. Sonance

**Chapter 19**

**Sonance**

He lit the candles as the same scents of food and color of drink were placed before them. The balcony was lit by the stars already, but the moon was shrouded this time. He was trying again as he had that night to win back her trust.

When the servants had gone, he finally spoke. "Jasmine, I want to start over. I know it seems impossible, but you and I have a history of going beyond what's possible."

He reached for her hand, as expected. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything you're going through and what I've put you through. I don't think apologies can do much of anything, but maybe if I say it again and we're alone here like this, I might just have a chance of saving what we're losing."

He clasped her hand more tightly, knuckles brushing against a glass of wine. "We've lost enough, haven't we? Neither of us is to blame, but we do have to take responsibility and move forward, not turn back." He looked encouragingly into her eyes. "We can start again, Jasmine, if we still trust each other. I don't want to lose you."

Words were words, she knew well enough from all her listless writing. She looked at him levelly as she spoke. "What exactly are you saying? What does it mean to start over?"

He was caught off guard, just as expected. He should have known that she had no patience for implications and vague promises. She had only accepted them lately out of shock and helplessness. But there was a limit to how much she would take, and he was retreading the line into uselessness now that she was awake.

"We're not talking about possibility, Aladdin," she said, and discovered her voice had been there all along. "This is reality."

She led him into their room, leaving the elaborate table and stars behind, untouched.

"Show me what you mean," she said once she stood bare before him. He stared speechless as she drew him down on her with insistence and heat that did not touch her eyes. The question of her value to him stood clear in her challenge.

"Show me," she gritted out.


	21. Sedative

**Chapter 20**

**Sedative**

The air smoldered cold between their entangled limbs and drying sweat. Her breathing had returned to normal, but she felt his heartbeat fast under her fingertips, as if racing to catch up with her still. She drew her hands gently down his chest, imagining red marks where there was only smooth skin flushed with heat. She didn't need to look into his eyes to know he was afraid of her again, but this time she didn't care. He had failed her challenge, to show her what he really meant beneath promising words and meaningful gazes.

He was afraid and uncertain, yet still tried to lead her. Trying to save what they were losing, he had said. Perhaps he was wondering now if it had already been lost.

She separated herself from him to lay across sheets instead of skin. He no longer spoke her name when she took him inside her. Did he feel another woman's warmth in those moments? Did he see red when he looked at her in the haze of release?

She knew bitterness only poisoned and devoured, but she had no medicine, only contagion. He did not reach for her now, but she could feel his eyes on her back, weighing his own failure and reservation. If he could no longer open up to her on the most intimate of levels, then trust naturally faded in other ways.

She had never been a fatalistic person, but she was honest. Now she knew she had been hiding and dying in hope for too long, and it was simply time to face it all, truths unfurled from their forced sedation.

She waited another nightfall before taking a single horse into the desert. No one stopped her, as expected. It was midnight when she reached the jagged cliffs and the eerily glowing crystal at their center. In the moonlight, it was no longer ordinary glass.

"Breaking curfew, are we?" His voice came from behind her, dry with amusement and cold awareness. "And no chaperones."

She turned and met the flint of his gaze. His smile gleamed. "Perfect."


	22. Stratagem

**Chapter 21**

**Stratagem**

"It would be easy...too easy, to take your city as it stands."

...

"Wrought with internal strife and distrust, its defenses are flawed and failing."

...

"Paranoid to the point of flinching at a single touch."

...

"Already accepting a calculated fate, its only choice is to seek release as resolution."

...

"Then it begs the question: should I take it, without difficulty or challenge? What kind of man would that make me?"

...

"But has it surrendered? Or is it merely submitting for the moment, in a ploy to regain its power?"

...

...

...

"Sometimes one's weaknesses can only be fixed by an enemy, because the latter has no care for how much blood is lost in the process."

...

"I learned that from you." His voice was a whisper.

She leaned forward the last inch and their lips met. His skin was cool to the touch, another challenge, one that was thankfully without words. They breathed evenly within the kiss, minutes passing in near stillness. He seemed content with slow advances, now only beginning to touch her back, her waist with his hands. She drew him closer with a measure of force, planting her own challenge to sunder his arrogance.

"This isn't surrender or submission," she said with a harsh breath, tasting blood on her tongue. "Or a ploy."


	23. Cut

**Chapter 22**

**Cut**

Her skin stung as she drew her clothing back over herself, only half-covering shallow wounds. He made no move to touch her, the distance between them now reestablished. She could still feel his eyes on her body, desire lingering and slowly withdrawing. He stretched lazily, the bare skin of his back pressed against the crystal wall. Dark clothes reappeared on his form with a small motion of his hand.

It was over, and the burn of recent memory was already growing stale with self-accusation.

"Leaving already?" he said as she began to walk away.

She did not turn around as she replied. "I have nothing to say to you."

"And to your street rat?"

She turned around. He smiled with the irritating knowledge that he had hit a nerve. She longed to hurt him again.

"He won't ask," she said simply.

Mozenrath raised an eyebrow. "Things have changed that much between you? Had I known it was this easy, I would have tried this long ago."

"It wasn't because of you," she snapped. "You aren't any part of it."

He laughed coldly, his voice echoing around her. "Denial is what makes you hero types so fun. Especially when you're already fallen. If we hadn't met that night, where would you be now? Still taking him inside you like the obedient wife, hoping he still sees your face when he comes, paralyzed by the thought that it's not you? You were dying, Jasmine; that stubborn, irritating mind of yours was dying, and I couldn't let that happen."

She slapped him hard across the face, leaving a red mark. He only smiled as he touched her waist and sent a current of power through her body, immobilizing her limbs. She only kept on her feet by his magic, and she cursed him once before he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was soft, too tender to be real, and she almost shrank back from him in surprise and sudden discomfort. His arms held her securely in place, and he opened her lips gently with his tongue. Her heartbeat thrummed against his chest as if the clock had been turned back an hour, when she'd received him for the first time in a forbidden rush of lust and oblivion. This was cruelty; he needed no magic to incapacitate her now.

He drew back slowly, but in his eyes she saw no reluctance, only dark contentment. He shook his head in mock regret, as if reprimanding himself. "That wasn't quite fair, was it? I said I wanted you to fight me. But I know you still do," he said, and traced her jawline until his hand met her racing pulse, "here."

He breathed lightly against her skin as a man savoring the scent of flowers freshly severed from the stem. "So you've never disappointed me, Jasmine--irritated me, yes, infuriated at times, but never disappointed." He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she sensed his imminent departure. "I trust you'll keep it that way."


	24. Infection

**Chapter 23**

**Infection**

The streets were foreign, cold, the air tepid and oppressive. She walked slowly, alone and surrounded, only moving her eyes and not her face in observing the infestation of life around her. It felt as if she was looking through an invisible window at a world she had visited long ago. The memory of her senses had been lost somehow; scents, voices, shades, all seemed alien as ancient hieroglyphs, and she was a stranger unable to comprehend their seamless history. She had been raised above these same streets once, exalted and similarly undecipherable to the common faces around her. But now she felt they no longer shared the same home.

Her feet were unsteady as one of her senses returned and her head spun with lack of water. She sought refuge from the heat in an unnamed alley, but the knife in her stomach twisted like hot ice. The faint malice of laughter echoed in her ear as bitter fluid filled her mouth and splattered over the hard ground. Another heave and there was nothing left in her, and she coughed until her throat burned. A dark smile lanced through the haze of her vision, and she steadied herself against the hard rock wall.

For one who was already diseased, what did it matter if she allowed sickness to accumulate? There was no remedy either way. But perhaps if she sought that elusive edge of pain mirrored by pleasure, the root of her sickness would no longer burn so acutely.

She raised her head and wiped her mouth, straightening her back. The sounds of the city filtered back into her ears, oblivious of her silent presence. She made her way through the streets once more on lighter feet and empty hunger. The feeling of sickness did not lessen, but she realized it was all relative.


	25. Lacuna

**Chapter 24**

**Lacuna**

He watched her warily as one would a clouded sky. In the lingering heat of the late evening, the shawl around her arms was conspicuous, unwelcome in his eyes, but she did not remove it.

He must have heard that she felt unwell and had no appetite, for the table was set differently this time, with only bread and water. The candles still glowed softly between them, illuminating the questions in his gaze. She waited, but as expected, he did not voice them. The glass was halfway to her lips when he finally spoke.

"I think we need some time off. To think, talk, make some decisions. I've appointed a vizier to oversee the kingdom for two weeks." He glanced at her hand resting on the table, but did not move to take it. "The place is yours to choose."

She drank slowly though thirst still burned in her throat, and placed the glass back on the covered table soundlessly. "What would that accomplish?"

"There are too many distractions here. We need to get away from what others think and say, and be free to decide things for ourselves."

She leaned forward gradually, her hands folded over the tablecloth. "The decisions I suspect you're talking about are the ones that won't change no matter where we are. There is no point."

"No. I could have chosen differently." An adamant edge established itself easily in his tone. He leaned forward as well, and she realized this was the handhold he had been seeking. "We could have looked harder for a solution. We could have found one - we still can. But I was too blind, too single-minded to think then. I gave in to their demands when I shouldn't have, and because of that, you...we've become like this."

She shook her head before he was finished speaking. "You could have chosen differently but you didn't. It can't be changed. You already have an heir." She paused only slightly, knowing this was provocation. "Or did you forget that while I was gone?"

He froze for a moment, a reaction she had considered. His voice was low, tense. "I've held back from asking you where you went." It was a veiled demand.

"Do you want to know?" she said evenly.

His jaw tightened. "What are you playing at, Jasmine? Why do you hate me?"

She closed her eyes briefly, retreating from the edge. "I don't hate you." Silence. "I just don't feel anything."

He did not move from his seat as she kissed his cheek coldly and left the table.


	26. Anew

**Chapter 25**

**Anew**

It was peculiar, how easily she slid through the days and weeks that followed, now that she felt nothing but a twinge of sickness at times. The brunt of duty and responsibility she had carried since birth was only hers to bear in name. Even the tea was no longer bitter in her throat, almost tasting like water.

It was less peculiar that Aladdin had backed off almost completely, having taken her indifference as a harder blow than if he had received her hate. She did not know how long it would last - his silence, their separation, her nights in the desert. For the first time in ages she was close to contentment again, having redefined it as freedom. Freedom to do as she wished without anyone to challenge her; the court no longer cared what she did, more concerned with politics and foreign affairs than with their now inconspicuous queen. Last she had heard, relations with Bindari were worsening, and Agrabanian diplomats had been expelled from its borders. There was nothing she could do when she in fact was the problem. But she did not believe that Sultan Mahir, as proud as he was, would ever take hostile action, as it was no secret that Agrabah had the power of two jinnis at its defense.

A new problem had rooted itself in her mind. A test of boundaries and purpose, played out between harsh gasps and chafed skin, the dark gleam of an enemy's eyes before the lines of enmity blurred. But it was this struggle that gave her life, as sickening and wrong as it was, because the only judgments passed upon her were her own.

So they met and took from each other without attachments or care, and she did not question what he wanted besides the heat of her body and the way she fought him each time. It was the evening she realized she had lost count of their meetings that she began to lose that ill sense of satisfaction. The question must have stood in her eyes then as he lifted himself off her slightly, an enigmatic smile gracing his lips at the thought of her ruin.

"We don't have to keep doing this here, you know."

They did--she did. But with a simple stab he exposed the flawed edge of her uneasy peace, stopping short of unveiling her sense of control as the lie that it was. She suddenly needed him to leave, before the cover tore on its own and forced her back to where she had started.

He held her in place.

It was different from all the other times. It began with the word he whispered in her ear as he took her, hands grasping her hips firmly and pushing, easing, rocking her against him, faster but never fast enough, drawing out the wait until she demanded without words that he finish her. Her last cry tapered into guilt, because he had proven his point.

_You've trapped yourself, not me._


	27. Auspice

**Chapter 26**

**Auspice**

"All the signs say it will be a boy, Your Majesty."

The physician bowed, keeping his eyes lowered out of respect and fear. Such news was to be celebrated, toasted again and again at an elaborate dinner feast, but the throne room remained in stony silence. The man's fear was tangible to the few who were present for the supposedly auspicious occasion, when the pregnancy was far enough along to predict the sex of the child. Fear not of his master, the sultan, but of the queen.

Aladdin nodded, stoic and expressionless. There was a hint of relief in his voice; he did not try to hide it from her. "That is welcome news, doctor. And the health of the mother?"

He did not look at her as he asked the perfunctory question for her benefit. A small frown curved her delicate mouth. They had not spoken for over a month, only appearing together in the throne room when decorum demanded it. She supposed this was his way of telling her that he had not visited the harem during their separation.

It gave her no comfort.

"The mother is well, Your Highness. She takes exercise regularly and is tended to with utmost care by servants at all times."

Her lip curled slightly.

Once the formal overtures were done with, she moved quickly to leave, desiring nothing more than the quiet privacy of her own chambers. She would have to prepare for the inevitable banquet and festivities to celebrate the unborn child. Innumerable guests and dignitaries would raise their glasses to her, their tense smiles held taut against wavering, as they all continued this farce. No amount of medical prediction and festive celebration could change the truth. She was not the mother of the child that would be hers.

A knock came on her door hours later as she had already begun preparing for the night, having selected the glimmering crystals she would wear to match her special attire.

He broke the long detente between them with a few clipped words.

"There will be no banquet."

She stood still and listened to the silence that followed on the other side of the door. It broke again, quietly, as his steps began to retreat down the hall.


	28. Viscous

**Chapter 27**

**Viscous**

She dreamed of a red banquet.

The air of the dimly lit hall was swathed in incense and the heady scent of wine. Murky forms of servants glided in and out of the surrounding darkness, carrying a seemingly endless number of steaming dishes and delicate chalices to the faceless guests. Aladdin sat beside her, still as a stone, staring silently ahead as servant girls caressed his shoulders in seamless motion. Jasmine looked down at her own attire; the gauzy red fabric felt nearly invisible.

There was a flit of black in her field of vision, somewhere behind the end of the table where the farthest dignitaries sat in the haze of the sumptuous feast. She heard the scattered clinks of glass, and figures around the table slowly rose, red liquid swishing in their chalices, tilting toward her. She stared at the nearest glass, filled with crimson fluid too thick to be wine. A deeply nauseating smell slowly pierced through the incense as an erring needle through layered cloth.

She clamped one hand over her mouth as countless glasses were pressed to faceless lips in a synchronized movement, viscous liquid flashing red across ravenous smiles. The taste of blood flooded her senses.

She awoke to darkness, heart pounding beneath her fingers, and for a second she hesitated to throw off her sweat-soaked blanket, remembering the vivid warmth of crimson between her legs. But there was only the dampness of sweat on flushed skin.

Sitting up, she threaded her hands slowly through the moistened tangles of her hair, tongue scouring the back of her teeth in an attempt to forget the vile aftertaste of a nightmare. But there was only the bitter remnant of the cursed tea she drank daily, lingering in her mouth.

She froze as she realized she was not alone. A shape moved against the gray darkness of her room, smoothly advancing like the deepening black of midnight.

"The trapped look quite becomes you, Your Highness."


	29. Incursion

**Chapter 28**

**Incursion**

She watched him wordlessly as he sat at her bedside, running his gauntleted hand across the silken blanket. She flinched back when he began to trace the outline of her thigh, chuckling dryly at her unease.

"What's the matter? Does a mere change in setting make us strangers?" His voice was carelessly loud against the tense silence, and she looked wildly around for any sign of the aged tiger that should have noticed the intrusion before she had. As if reading her thoughts, he put a finger to his lips in self-reprimand, and spoke in an amused whisper. "No need to worry; we're alone."

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"I just thought I'd check in to see how you were, after you suddenly dropped out of sight." The layer of sympathy in his voice was laced with dark intent, as always. "It's been a while, Jasmine. I daresay I've begun to miss you."

"It's over. Get out--" Her words died at the feel of warm lips on the side of her neck, the caress of his hot breath on her skin.

"You disappointed me for the first time after that night," he murmured against her ear, his hands now smoothing down her sides to gather the thin folds of her nightgown between his knuckles. "You ran away and stopped fighting me." He pulled the fabric upward gently, and she found she could offer no resistance against the heat of his touch. The fabric slid over her head with a soft rustle, and he sighed against her cheek. "Why?"

There was no use to his questioning, as she lost the ability to answer in the dangerous thrill of seduction, here in the supposed sanctum of her private chambers where no man save her husband could enter. She held her breath as he slid over her, carelessly casting his own clothes to the floor, almost daring the guards outside her door to hear and suspect that their queen was not alone. The first gasp from her throat was cut short as his lips joined hers in a silencing kiss; she could feel his dark smile.

She writhed between the smooth warmth of his body and the silken sheets of her bed, a torturous alternative to bruising gravel and dirt. She would bear no scars this time, only the burn of memory where he had dared to cross the unspoken boundary of her private world, a world where she was queen, meant to be obeyed, not to yield to an enemy in helpless submission.

Their breathing slowed in tandem as they finished each other in a forbidden reunion, and she lay motionless in his warm embrace, closing her eyes as he stroked her hair. Perhaps he had planned it this way, where entrapment was inextricably entwined with the overpowering draw of desire.


	30. Puncture

**Chapter 29**

**Puncture**

The hand combing through her hair finally fell still, leaving only a steady heartbeat against her back. It was dangerous to remain like this in silence and darkness, where illusions could slip in between thoughts and knowledge. No matter how warm his embrace, it was all still a lie. He was not welcome here, and he would inevitably leave. She needed him to leave.

As always, the problem lay between need and want.

"How much longer will you run?" he murmured. He drew one hand over her abdomen, drawing slow circles across her skin.

She did not answer, knowing he was only waiting for a denial.

"Until he finally goes mad from separation and begs to have you back?" he wondered aloud. "Or perhaps orders you..."

She bristled, and his hand ceased its motion; he was testing her, seeing how far she'd allow him to go before she snapped. It was a well-worn game by now.

"I'm not running," she said brusquely, still tense in his arms.

He drew her back against him in an almost possessive act, wrapping both arms around her waist and resting his chin against her shoulder. She could sense the curve of his smile as he spoke in her ear.

"What's her name, then?"

She froze, and his smile widened. The silence ticked out a maddening confirmation.

"Ah. You don't know, do you?" He paused, allowing the venom to spread. "You have been running after all."

"She'll be nothing after she gives birth to the child." She spat out the words like poison, but the sickness within her only deepened. "Her name won't matter."

"Really? She'll still live within these hallowed walls, won't she? And she'll still get to see the child..." He was stepping across shards of glass now, but continued to advance. "You wouldn't deny her that right, would you? Surely Aladdin--"

Her hands gripped his wrists, nails digging into his forearms with ruthless force. He exhaled roughly in her ear, darkly content with her reaction.

"Unless she was no longer around."

They lay still, pain bleeding out between them in a slow trickle. The marks left by her nails would last, but his words cut deeper, leaving the jagged scar of suggestion. Her heart lurched sickeningly as the war between need and want threatened to tilt.


	31. Dysbarism

**Chapter 30**

**Dysbarism**

Bristles scraped against flushed skin, steam obscuring her vision as she sank deeper into the scalding water. She scoured the skin of her arms as if she could erase the bruises from his grip; her waist, as if she could cut herself free from his possessive embrace; her thighs, as if she could wipe away the damning memory of him inside her.

The morning felt no different from the night. But at least she would be alone. Her maids would not return to her room today, as she'd harshly ordered them out after they had prepared her bath. She would see no one except the aged tiger that was just waking from its stupor.

She paused to stare at the bristles, the ends now tinted a faint red.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head back against the hard edge of the tub. She had to stop thinking, stop remembering, stop feeling.

It would be easy to sink down, to forget, to drown, here in the haze and solitude of her private world, before it could be invaded again. She could purge herself of sickness altogether, of the vile skin that had melded into her being.

_Royal blood is priceless, the wellspring of authority. Yet you spill it to waste, allowing the base blood of commoners to run over it._

_It would be easy. A simple cut, and you would have what you wanted._

_Isn't it time for someone else to bleed?_

Her trembling hand slowly moved over the edge of the tub, cool air meeting chafed skin. The wooden brush dropped to the floor with a clack. Breaths deliberately slow, heartbeat unbearably loud. Fingers entangled in weighted hair.

Pierced by the twin spears of need and want, she finally knew how profusely the wound of imagination could bleed. The darkness of her reality was no longer comforting. It was a consuming madness, thirsting for blood as a living creature, a demon child he had seeded in her with his words. She had to silence it before it grew a voice, smother it before it could breathe its malice into concrete actions.

Standing, she watched the water drip down her skin, now seeing the gauntness of her limbs, the angular lines of her ribs. Wrapped in a towel, she stared at the stranger in the mirror, an interminable silence hanging between them. It seemed whole days had passed before she finally began to recognize herself again.


	32. Mill

**Chapter 31**

**Mill**

Her senses returned at a gradual pace after her awakening. She began to notice the furtive glances of servants again, even from the stoic guards in the halls, as she appeared outside her chambers wrapped in more layers than she had ever worn, hiding the scars and hollows of a too-thin figure. She listened for the whispers that she had forcibly muted for months, the dark undercurrent within the palace that had since spread and swirled into deeper poison.

_The queen had been cursed with an incurable illness and was slowly wasting away without treatment._

_The sultan would soon cast her aside and take another wife, a princess from a wealthy and powerful kingdom._

_The queen was secretly plotting to assassinate her husband, spending her nights away from the palace to conspire with enemies._

_The sultan would crown the harem girl as queen in blatant disregard for the law, in the same manner that he himself had risen to power._

_The queen was guilty of adultery. Why else had she continued to drink medicinal tea if she no longer slept with her husband?_

_The sultan was biding his time in accusing her publicly. If she did not die of her sickness, she would die by stoning._

She waited for the servant girl to arrive as she did every day bearing a tray with a porcelain cup. The girl bowed low before her, not daring to meet her eyes, and proffered the condemnation she had ignored for months.

With a firm hand she took the cup and threw it into the potted plant beside the wall. It cracked against the hard clay and rolled into the soil.

She could hear the girl locking her breath inside her lungs, see the tension in her limbs as she fought to hide her fear.

In a calm voice she dismissed her. The knowledge the hapless girl now carried would spread and swirl into the pool of rumors, and she would listen for a change. It could not be too late.

Alone once more, she resumed reading the old text. The familiar calligraphy was like an elegant black spill on the page.

_Watchman, what is left of the night?_


	33. Recoil

**Chapter 32**

**Recoil**

The nights grew long and insufferable, her skin unnaturally hot, her throat parched and sore. Her body ached from the effects of her decision, suddenly forced to readjust after months of drinking poison. She awoke one night and muffled a scream, seeing the dark blood between her legs.

_Just a little blood. That's all I would need._

Moonlight illuminated the rumpled sheets of her bed, the blanket she had kicked to the floor in her restless sleep. Tearing her gaze from the ruined bedsheets, she stared at the full moon outside.

It was a step closer to normalcy, edged with the harsh illusion of his words.

She rinsed the memory of his offer from her mind along with the stains from her skin, shivering as cold water touched her thighs. Clad in a clean robe, she returned to her bed and methodically removed the sheets, piling them on the floor beside the discarded blanket. The maids would take them in the morning. Then the whispers would spread and accumulate once more, and they would surely reach the sultan's ears.

She stared at the mattress, noticing just how wide it was now that it had been stripped bare. A shiver ran through her again, but there was no cold touch, only emptiness. Unexpectedly, she took a step back, and another, away from the bed and toward the door.

The guards were silent and unmoving as she passed them with even steps, her heart beginning to pound as she drew near to her destination, a place that was now foreign to her, where a man who had become a stranger was sleeping.

She would not have to speak. He would see the red between her thighs. She would not touch him unless he reached for her. He would not reach for her; she did not want him to. She had no concept of what she wanted, as she was not whole in mind and body.

She had not been whole for a long time, and this was another step to rectify it.

She reached the ornate door of the sultan's chambers, guarded by silent statues of men. She saw only the golden handle that would twist under her hand, her fingers now curled around the cool metal, frozen. Shutting her eyes, she listened to the blank darkness surrounding her, waiting for her hand to push.

The guards did not move as she passed them again, each pounding heartbeat and faltering step a testament to her weakness.


	34. Pare

**Chapter 33**

**Pare**

_Her hand was steady and still as it gripped the knife. There was no sweat on her palms, no tremor in her step. She moved silently down the empty hallway with a clarity of mind only present in dreams. The darkness obscured all doors except one, the one she had avoided at every chance but now had to open. Her free hand parted the long webs of curtains draped over the entrance, seeking the handle, and did not hesitate as she found it and twisted._

_She held the blade in front of her and noticed its dark tint for the first time. Perhaps it was to conceal the blood. It was yet clean, the edge sharpened as to leave no room for doubt._

_The thick scent of flowers and perfume was smothering, carving the first nick in her single-minded purpose. Her step faltered, her hands beginning to sweat, and the knife gleamed. She saw the sleeping form in the bed, dark hair sprawled over the pillow, one delicate arm resting over the blanket. She moved closer, the shadows of the room bleeding into her clarity of mind._

_The blade was poised above the throat, where one downward thrust would kill all doubt. But she could no longer breathe or move._

_The face of the woman was her own._

She awoke to the pounding of her heart, heavy and urgent. Her hands gripped the blanket only to throw it off her heated skin, and she sat up in bed, blessed chaos flooding her mind once more. Swallowing dryly, she drew her fingers through her hair and turned toward the faint light coming through the windows. The pale hues of the sun were spreading over the horizon like watercolors, heralding the dawn. She shivered as she thought of darkness.

She reached for the glass of water on her bedstand, and paused as she found the tray of food that had already been brought in.

An apple and a loaf of bread.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the dull sheen of the apple's skin, the soft texture of bread that was still warm. The remnants of the nightmare receded beneath the simple reminder of daily sustenance, a rare moment of beauty captured in the solitude of dawn. The corner of her mouth tugged upward in a long-forgotten smile, and something awoke within her heart, as a song seeking a way through thick walls. She placed the tray on her lap with utmost care as if it would shatter in her hands, lips trembling now with fresh revelation and tentative hope.

She lifted her pillow to prop it against the headboard behind her, and her smile froze at the sharp prick of pain against her palm. She drew back her hand, frowning at the thin red cut across her skin. A slow, dreaded second passed before she looked beyond it, at the space where her pillow had been.

The tray crashed to the floor as her eyes fell upon the dark blade, its edge dotted with her blood.


	35. Rein

**Chapter 34**

**Rein**

For two weeks, there was silence.

He did not heed her voice in the night, did not appear in her room or in her dreams. Her daily mask was slipping as she thought of the knife buried in her mattress, a dark secret she could not dispel or return to its giver. He was waiting for her to act.

_Just a little blood..._

_and you would have your cure._

She did her best to ease back into her duties as before, frequenting the mundane meetings of domestic affairs that the sultan did not need to attend. The councilors were polite and deferent, not questioning her state of mind or her habitual silence. The whirling of possibilities, a secret map of roads she might take continued to unravel in her head. She had to move.

Twice she had woken to find small gifts by her bedside, reminders of a past life without momentous choices or burdens. A jasmine flower. A jeweled necklace. They sundered her heart gently with their simplicity and hope. He was waiting for her to act as well.

But she had to answer the other first. Then...then perhaps she could return to him, finally accept his offer to begin again, or at least to understand.

She took a light pack with enough rations for a day and night, expecting that she would succeed though she had no formal plan. It was near midnight when she approached the stable, searching the darkness for the horse she favored. The familiar weight of a sheathed blade touched her thigh as she swung her leg over the saddle and took the reins.

"Jas?"

She turned, surprised that she had been discovered. After months of purposeful ignorance toward her activities, someone had chosen to follow her.

Genie materialized from the darkness, extending one hand to help her off the horse. "You shouldn't go."

There was no joviality in his voice or countenance; his daily mask had slipped as well, revealing a nature worn by the ages. How many humans had he known who were like her, broken but still alive, striving in vain to make at least a small scratch on their fate?

"You've been watching me." Should she have expected any different? Perhaps. It was strange that he had not approached her at any moment before now. But how many foolish humans had he served who were like her, engaging in poisonous affairs with the enemy and betraying their responsibilities?

"I haven't told anyone. I was only asked to make sure you were safe." She raised an eyebrow at his judgment of her safety. For one reason or another, he had not considered the dark sorcerer enough of a threat to stop her or to tell Aladdin. Either way, her trust or distrust in him did not matter.

"Why now?" she asked simply.

"You shouldn't risk your life needlessly anymore. He isn't the only enemy out there, Jas. Bindari spies and assassins have been sent into Agrabah and surrounding areas."

The question repeated itself. Bindari had been threatening Agrabah with war for quite some time, but she had assumed Mahir had only been bluffing. How could the man expect to win against a kingdom defended by two jinnis?

"Go to the council meeting tomorrow, and you'll see," Genie continued. "Agrabah needs you safe."


	36. Apprehend

**Chapter 35**

**Apprehend**

"I did not give permission to employ torture." Aladdin's voice was grim as he still would not take his seat at the head of the table. He stood looking down upon councilors who had routinely defied him but now appeared to respect, even fear him to some extent. Jasmine wondered just how much had changed since she had last set foot in this room.

"We do not torture anyone, not even our enemies. Not even in war. We have other means of getting information from prisoners, ways that are more effective but painless. Is that understood?" he continued, glaring pointedly at several individuals who kept their eyes downcast. They nodded, acquiescing to an order they no doubt found unreasonable. It was universally accepted that enemies forfeited all rights upon capture, and torture was an efficient tool to extract information. But Agrabah's sultan was different. And Genie was not in attendance tonight, but the councilors should have remembered that they had a jinni's magic at their disposal.

It was too late to take back what had been done to the recently captured Bindari spy. Nonetheless the information he had yielded was useful. There were at least three more spies in the city. The first attack against the kingdom would likely come from the north. Genie had fortified that area immediately, drawing a barrier that might hold for a week before it would need to be renewed.

A servant suddenly entered the room in a blatant breach of protocol, his steps rigid with apprehension and urgency. His words were for the sultan alone, and Aladdin's stern expression changed to one of worry as the man whispered a message in his ear. The next moment he ordered a vizier to preside over the rest of the meeting and moved to leave, pausing only to throw a meaningful glance in her direction. She waited a tense second before following him.

The servant was a medic, she realized from the terse words that passed between him and her husband. There was no one else with them as they hurried down the halls toward a destination she knew all too well in her dreams. She trailed behind as they reached the curtained entrance, now unable to move as her husband parted the thick webs and went inside.

She had never been this close to knowing. Beyond the door was the nameless, faceless, voiceless girl who had unwittingly encroached upon the dignity and authority of Agrabah's queen. The servant had said she was ill and weak, and in her delirium she had called for the sultan. As if the sultan were duty-bound to wait on her.

Jasmine moved closer to the door with purposeful steps. She could look now or stay forever ignorant, for she would not bring herself near this place again.

With steady hands she parted the layered curtains, acutely aware that her right hand was empty.


	37. Jamb

**Chapter 36**

**Jamb**

The main room was just as she had imagined, smothered so thickly with luxury that the walls and ceiling seemed uncomfortably close to the skin. She could hear the fear in the surrounding silence, the averted gazes of women born and bred to serve. Her feet made no sound over the lush carpet, and her eyes did not move from her destination, a side hall lined with doors. The last room was special, set aside for the one the sultan had chosen.

The medic was waiting at the end of the hall, wringing his hands nervously as she approached. Ignoring his apprehension, she moved past him to part the curtains, pinning each layer to the hook on the doorframe. A breath and a step, and she was inside.

The canopy obscured the figure on the bed. Still faceless, nameless. But no longer soundless, as a hacking cough tapered into muffled pain against a pillow. Aladdin's profile was tense and guarded as he stood at a distance from the bed, speaking softly to the suffering girl. Jasmine tore her gaze from the canopy and watched the stretch of emptiness between her husband and the girl, a space he was maintaining for a purpose. For her?

His eyes cut toward the door, meeting hers in an expressionless exchange. There were no songs or smiles, only an offer of truth, clear and plain. This was the mother of his child, the girl he had chosen after her.

The moment broke between them as he turned his face back toward the unseen figure, kneeling slowly by the bed. One hand reached forward, brushing strands of hair from an invisible face, and his lips offered a prayer. A blessing for her health.

Time passed in silence, or perhaps it stood as still as the three figures in the room. It began to flow again when Aladdin finally rose, reestablishing the wall of distance, and left the girl's side.

Jasmine could hear the medic retreat further back into the hall as Aladdin drew near, coming to stand before her in the curtained doorway. He undid the hook of the curtain on the doorframe, and the layers cascaded around them, enclosing them both in a darkened space.

"You don't have to do this." His voice was oppressively soft, muted by the walls of fabric. "Go back, Jasmine."

Her hands trembled at her sides. "No."

"You shouldn't feel--"

"Do you trust me?" Though she whispered the words, they were still full of avarice, sucking the air from the space around them.

He did not meet her eyes, taking her hand instead. Her fingers trembled against his palm.

"If you have to go in, I'll wait for you here."

He stepped aside, and began to wait. Regaining her breath, she moved past him.


	38. Ruth

**Chapter 37**

**Ruth**

Trust was a strange thing. Each step and breath was lined with the knowledge that he was watching, waiting, expecting, from his vantage point at the door. The world shrank to the size of a room chambered as a heart, beating with words unsaid, waiting to bleed.

She approached the bed, and her first sight of the girl passed in unaffected silence. She lay quiet and still, eyes closed in exhausted rest. Her features were a union of beautiful plainness and weary youth, unmemorable, like a thousand other nameless women.

Jasmine waited for an epiphany, for some tragic truth or bitter rage to reveal itself. None came. The girl looked nothing like her.

A cough broke the silence as the fragile body on the bed jerked slightly, a delicate throat exposed by the fall of translucent sheets. Eyes fluttered open involuntarily, disturbed from sleep, and the next moments were a blur.

A choked gasp, widened eyes, a violent toss of the blanket, and the heavy thump of knees against the floor. "Your Highness--"

Shaking hands, palms down, inches from Jasmine's feet, long hair hanging limply from thin shoulders, forehead lowered painfully to the carpet. "Your servant begs--have mercy..." The girl's entire body was shuddering under the weight of some repeated nightmare. Jasmine drew back in growing horror.

"Mercy..."

Jasmine knelt slowly, hands helpless in her lap. The memory of cold metal in her palm was too fresh. _Mercy_. The dark laughter of a sorcerer, a disdainful offer for a cure at the price of a servant girl's life. _Mercy._ Long months gone by in coldness, an escalating fall into bitterness and loss and deadly rumors of madness and vengeance--

"What is your name?" she whispered.

"F--Fadwa, your Highness."

"Rise, Fadwa," she said, and took the girl's hands.

The curve of her belly was plainly visible through her nightgown, a burden infinitely precious. Jasmine's heart ached, but she did not know for whom she felt pain. The terror in the girl's eyes was a knife in her gut, and she closed her eyes briefly, poison swirling, leaking, escaping.

She helped Fadwa back into bed, aware once again of Aladdin's eyes on her, how he was only now releasing the breath he had been holding. Trust was a strange thing_._

"Please..." Jasmine brushed a strand of hair back from the girl's forehead. "Please don't be afraid."


	39. Parallel

**Chapter 38**

**Parallel**

They rode side by side, the desert cold and vast around them. Soldiers patrolled an invisible perimeter somewhere in the distance where Genie's magic barrier ended. The night air was tense with the scent of impending war, but the tension in his profile told nothing of political failure or state affairs.

She focused on the well-worn rhythm of her favored mount's graceful steps, the fine black hair on its stately head beneath the reins. Words flitted and died on her lips several times, and she settled for stillness.

"Jasmine."

A minute passed, and sound came easier. Their horses continued to walk parallel paths.

"Thank you, for...I know how hard that was for you."

She nodded in answer. "She's brave." _Pure. Humble._

_Used._

"I should have..." Her voice thickened and trailed off. He accepted it readily. They lapsed into quiet again, staring into the dark and not really seeing.

"Were you..." he stopped, struggling with the dust that had accumulated over months of silence. "Were you planning to see someone tonight?"

His eyes were on her; she could sense the veiled pain, the coiled questions. "I stopped drinking the tea a while ago," she said.

"Jasmine."

Her horse walked on alone for several seconds before she pulled on the reins too forcefully, bringing it to a halt as well. Slowly she turned her head, looking back to where he had abruptly stopped, and met his gaze, again with more force than necessary.

"I was--" she began.

"Who--"

He shook his head, curtailing his question and casting the remains away in disgust. "Never mind. That corpse is for you to carry."

Her grip tightened on the reins. It could have been worse, she reasoned. He could have followed her. He could have had others follow her, she could have been publicly shamed and brought to trial, she could have been condemned. He could have--

She could accuse him in return; he deserved her condemnation, her silence; she could turn back coldly and forget the sheen of apples at sunrise, the scent of freshly cut flowers--

"It's over," she said simply. The words sounded like an echo.

He watched her for a long moment. "Is it?"

She gave a decisive tug on the reins and rode back toward him, drawing closer until her saddle brushed his horse's mane. He watched her come near, months of echoes flickering across his conflicted gaze. She reached tentatively toward his face; her palm touched his cheek, and his hand came up immediately to grip her wrist.

It was unclear who pushed or pulled, but the next second she was falling, legs twisting painfully out of the saddle, and then she could not breathe, the air forced from her lungs by the hard sand at her back and his body pressed against hers. She glimpsed the tense silhouette of his shoulders against the moonlight before he kissed her hard and fast, and she was suffocating. Shutting her eyes, she wrapped her arms around him and locked her hands at his back, not letting go.


	40. Resonance

**Chapter 39**

**Resonance**

The sheets were softer than she remembered. The room seemed larger, emptier. But she remembered the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body beside hers. They lay awake, hands entwined. It was still dark, and it went unspoken that they would both wait for the sunrise if they had to.

Quietly she slid over him and leaned down until her head rested on his chest, over his heart. She closed her eyes to its steady rhythm, and spoke.

"Not everything is forgiven."

"I know."

"It'll take time."

"It will."

She fell silent again, tracing his shoulder with one hand. He allowed her to explore him, perhaps hoping she had not forgotten what she had once known so intimately. A sigh escaped his throat as she moved her hips almost lazily, an idle test.

"Jasmine..." He brushed her cheek with his hand, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. "Tell me that wasn't an accident, out there in the desert. Did you want it?"

Part of her hated him for asking such a plain and ugly question. Part of her was relieved that he did not elaborate. _Did you want it more than all the times you saw someone else? Did you wish I was that someone else? Did you want me?_

_What is it you want?_

She stared back at him levelly, granting no quarter. There was much left to be proven, to be earned back.

"Show me."

His expression changed minutely, an old wound opened by her repeated challenge. But he knew. He knew her meaning this time.

He rose slowly and drew her into his lap; their gazes were even, his hands warm at the small of her back. He began with his lips at the corner of her mouth, calculatingly off target, as if taking care not to silence her against her will. He tilted her back gently, but his touch was firm, not hesitant as it had been during her first challenge. His lips slid along her jaw, burning a hot trail down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone. She closed her eyes, arms loose around his shoulders. He shifted downward slightly, moving with the care of an artist over a canvas, and her hands entangled in his hair.

_Jasmine. _He spoke her name as a man dreaming, and she felt something change.

Warm hands continued the journey his tongue had begun. He kissed her lips and drew away just long enough--_Jasmine. _Again, drifting as an unconscious whisper, he exhaled against her skin, forehead resting against hers. _I've dreamed, these months. Dreamed of how everything was still broken, but you came back._

_You came back._

Trembling, she wrapped her legs around his waist, easing him inside her, felt his eyelashes flutter against her cheek. A small disbelieving breath of pleasure and want, _Jasmine_, and she answered him in a whisper.

She held on as he moved, eyes shut tightly, and remembered how he breathed, how his calloused palms felt against her skin, how their heartbeats blurred into a deeper rhythm, how she could not have him deeply enough. Something was building inside her, and she remembered it too, welcoming it, aching for it; a final ragged breath, her name, a promise finally fulfilled--he had not forgotten her.

They sank together into stillness, flushed skin against soft sheets, and silence.

Later, when she had almost fallen asleep, he spoke again.

"I've missed you," he said softly. "Rest."


	41. Forbear

**Chapter 40**

**Forbear**

It was a strange new familiarity to wake beside him in the gray before dawn. He slept on in the dreamless depths hollowed out by relief, and she saw exhaustion etched in the dark skin under his eyes.

Each morning thereafter, she listened to his breathing as she waited for him to awaken, content to watch the darkness recede gradually. And she learned that forgiveness came easier in the quiet hours of the dawn, when the mind and memory were as misted glass.

The first day, she forgave him for his silence in the wake of her diagnosis, for crushing her with a burden twice as heavy when he had finally allowed the physician to tell her.

The second, for the fevered night in Getzistan, when he had demanded a sacrifice and left her awake in the aftermath, alone and sickened.

The third, for bowing to the ill counsel of petty, stone-hearted men who bore neither respect nor wisdom for the sake of the sultan and kingdom they claimed to serve.

He forgave her as well in brief, unadorned words, and she no longer doubted their weight.

First, for the steep walls she had built, which had rendered her deaf to entreaties for reason.

Second, for leaving him to face the petty, stone-hearted council alone, without her respect or wisdom as a vital support.

Third, for a cold kiss and the assurance of indifference, which burned more harshly than hate.

But there they both stopped.

Forgiveness would take time, they both knew. The fourth morning, they were silent, and though the exhaustion had faded considerably from his eyes, there was still an impasse to cross. An impasse carved by questions, accusations neither could voice without shattering the mirror of absolution they held together with tentative hands. The trespass of rosewater into their bed, flawed promises and a secondary embrace; three words, once cherished, bereaved of meaning in an instant. The unspoken other, darkly filling the distance between them and her nights in the desert; the scars on her skin, telltale wounds meant for him, he had realized with sick dread.

_We'll wait_. The words stood in his eyes, this time without renitence.


End file.
